Drifter
by imnottooobsessed
Summary: Corrie was in prison when the world fell apart. After Rick and Carl save her life, she helps them track down the governor and end him. Merle is still alive in this fractured timeline, and Rick's group willingly left the prison before the governor felt the need to act.
1. They thought I was their friend

**I don't own anything from the Walking Dead, including locations and characters. Besides my OC...I hope you like it!**

Pace...with racing thoughts I frantically searched my small, grim cell for any and every possible escape.

Pace...round and round in circles I went, covering the same area, denying my imminent fate.

Pace...like a cadged animal pacing and waiting to die, I was trapped.

Pace...What did I do to deserve this fate worse than death?

Moannn...all questions fell out of my mind when I heard that.

Moannn...again, my blood ran cold.

Moannn...I knew I was protected in my cell, but how long can rusted hinges last against the relentless pounding of a soulless corpse?

Shuffle...it was getting closer, that foul creature forsaken by God.

Shuffle...my grip tightened around the only weapon I had, a metal pole pried off my sturdy bunk with much effort.

Moannn...Why was I here?! What had I done to deserve this?!

Shuffle..."Stop feeling sorry and get it together!" I told myself. "Why are you here? Because you messed up! But that's not what you're going to do now!" I backed up to the far wall of my cell, and, gripping my pole with new conviction, flung myself against the cell door. It didn't budge-at all. My whole left side ached, but I knew I didn't have much time, so I decided to do the smart thing: pry the door open with my weapon. Before I could, a violent, living corpse reached in toward me with a growl and grasped one of my blue-green pigtails. In a panic, I wildly swung my metal pole and detached the monster's weakened arm, even now gripping my curly hair, and flinging a thick, black ooze all over my body. I reeled back, took a deep breath, and stabbed the creature in the ribs, shoulder, then head, now infuriated by it. The mutilated body dropped to the ground with a loud thud as I let out a sigh of relief. Disgust replaced my fear while I gingerly pulled it's fingers from my pigtail, and then hurled. I wasn't scared anymore, but I cried. I cried like a little girl separated from her mother at a shopping mall. Sniffling like an idiot, I pried open my cell and looked around. There was nothing noticeable, besides the familiar corridor of the Louisiana Women's Correction Facility. My orange jumpsuit, now covered in nauseating, putrid goo as well as my most recent meal, reminded me of the fact that I would be very easy to spot by both living and dead. A fugitive on the run doesn't seem very trustable, so I decided to find one of the guard's lockers and take some clean clothes. Once I changed, I began to think out loud, "I'm not completely innocent, but I've never killed anyone...on purpose. Still, that doesn't make it right to leave me alone in a cell with no way to defend myself! Why am I the only one here?"

Moannn...and then I realized, everyone WAS still here, in the form of a walking, growling nightmare or in one of their stomachs.

Shuffle...I walked down the corridor and noticed several people still in cells, but they hadn't faired as well as I. My footfall prompted them to force their arms through the doors and produce low, bone-chilling moans, enough to drive a man, or in my case a woman, insane.

Moannn...my only concern was escaping before I was swarmed. Having lived there, I knew most of the exits in the prison by heart, and had little trouble reaching one, for I took back hallways and kept as quiet as possible. After several more corpses had fallen by my hand with considerable effort and much fear, I emerged outside the main building.

So stupid. Instead of gathering the necessary supplies like any person with common sense would, I hauled my sorry arse out of there as fast as possible. I ran along the inner fence until I reached the gate, knocking down a couple creatures along the way. "I'm getting pretty good at this!" I remarked to myself, right before a weak grasp tightened around the hood of my jacket. Flailing this way and that, I wiggled out of the hoodie, and once free, poked my stabbing device into the living corpse's eye socket. I took in a deep gulp of the rotting air and half choked with surprise. For a moment I had forgotten, forgotten the bodies of guards and inmates, the bodies of people, dragging themselves across the courtyard.

My lungs burned as I ran along the soggy road. I felt like I had been going for hours, and, discounting quick breaks, I sorta had. Ever since I left the prison, about 2 months ago, my only thought was to get away from Louisiana, to find a place devoid of those monsters. Understanding the whole country was swarmed could have helped me greatly in this period of time, because I saw several very promising, securable places which I dismissed in my haste. As I sat down on a stump to rest for a few minutes, I casually glanced toward a swampy area next to the road, and saw an old man. He was slumped over in a defeated way, practically inviting a _muncher_ to fill itself with his fleshy goodness. His tent was barely even upright, and from what I could see, he had no way of protecting himself. I, being a rather naive idiot, made a bad decision: to approach him and help him. (How? Don't ask me!) As I did, he jumped up and ran toward me like Sher Khan when his tail caught on fire, determination in his eyes and a knife in his hand. I panicked, stupidly discharging my .38 pistol into his chest-three times. Those LOUD gunshots rang out into the still, muggy afternoon, and into all the undeads' ever-listening ears within a three mile radius. I knew I had little time to hide, get away, or do anything before I was pounced on by a herd of walking corpses, so I dropped my ruck sack at the base of the nearest tree and attempted to scale it. It took several attempts, but I succeeded. Safe in the harboring canopy of a tall Cyprus, I broke out the precious granola bar that I had found in the glovebox of a car, and devoured it, chewing as silently as possible. After the horde passed by, I "climbed" (more like fell!) down, picked up my sack of supplies, and trudged on at a rather sluggish pace.

After that dangerous encounter, I avoided people like the plague. One thing I learned, though, is that months in solitude doesn't help one's mental health, and I was itching to talk to anyone...or anything. I happened upon a pit bull mix while looking for food outside a supermarket, and asked him to be my friend. The dog gladly accepted, thanks to a persuasive jar of peanut butter, and would have followed me till the end. I named him *Teman, my friend. He was the loyalist creature God ever placed on this earth, I swear he could read minds. That brave dog saved my life more times than...well, I don't think I would have stayed sane without his calm, rhythmic breathing combating the incessant moans of those monsters in the dark of the night. Gosh, I miss him.

On a few occasions, I encountered people I had to trust. One of these people was Anne. Anne was an ambulance driver and registered nurse...well, at least before the world fell apart. A couple weeks before I met Teman, I was being chased by some munchers I had stupidly deemed not worth my effort and tried to jump a barbed wire fence to get them off my trail. As I soared up and over, the side of my left leg caught on the fence and tore open. Boy, did it hurt! There I was, hanging by my boot and gash, just waiting for those approaching creatures to end my pain, when I heard a gunshot. Then another. BANG! BANG! BANG! Several more. A woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties was standing in front of me, a look of concern across her once-kind face. She gave me a sympathetic smile as she tore my limb from the fence, and, to my surprise, flung me over her shoulder.

I don't remember what else happened, me **_bleeding out_** and all, but next thing I knew I was laying on a cot. My leg was bandaged neatly, and my head was spinning from the effects of what must have been painkillers. My rescuer then entered:

"How are you feeling?" She asked in a hospitable voice.

"Fine." I said this rather coldly, because I didn't feel like talking to anyone. (Looking back, I'm surprised I didn't talk her ear off the minute I saw her.)

"What's your name? Mine is Anne. I must remind you that I'm entitled to an introduction, at least." She quipped rather smartly. This made me even less willing to answer.

"Corrie."

"Ok, Corrie, how old are you?"

"I'm twenty."

"Have you ever killed anyone?"

I hesitated. "Never on purpose. No, once. But he attacked me first."

"You're going to need some time to heal. Have you ever considered staying with people? A community?"

"No. I avoid people like the plague."

"Well, then we'd better get you patched up and on your way, huh?"

Anne smiled as she turned to leave the tent we were in.

"Thanks." I said with the shadow of a smirk.

"No problem." The flap-of-a-door fell behind her.

The longer I stayed, the more I considered staying for good. It took quite some time, but after my leg healed, and I made up my mind to remain with Anne's group, I again heard that far too familiar sound that made my blood run cold, no matter how often I heard it.

Moannn...a large group of Munchers was passing through, caught us off guard. There were about ten of us, and we were on a run, so we didn't have much with us. They came at us from all sides, and we were outnumbered.

Crunch...the sound of crushed bone as a muncher closed its teeth around Jason's wrist.

Squelch...an undead sunk its teeth into the side of Sara's neck.

I couldn't bare to see the lives of my friends ripped apart along with their trembling bodies. I couldn't stand to hear their cries of help. So I ran. And ran. And ran.

Bang...Bang...Bang...Anne's gun went off in succession. I didn't look back. I heard her call my name. I didn't answer. That was my biggest regret. I sensed the desperation in her voice, but I did nothing. I don't know what happened to her, to them. The people who called me their friends.

*Teman means friend in Indonesian.


	2. You're a good man

**Ok, sorry this is so short, but it's sorta just a brige between chapters. Please bear with me, I'm working on more. I really like this 'chapter'. I changed the timeline of TWD so they left the prison instead of getting attacked, but got separated. The governor is still alive. I really hope my OC isn't a Mary Sue, I'm trying as hard as I can...**

 **I don't own the walking dead or any of its characters.**

"You just left them?" a small statured boy asked with a sideways glance toward his father. He fingered his silenced pistol in a confident way, sitting on a crate, propped up against the wall of a barn.

"It was a mistake. I learned my lesson." Replied the tall young woman who had just finished telling her story. She was seated on the floor against a beam supporting the hay loft.

"You were in prison. What for?" A gruff, lawful man stepped toward her in a rather threatening manner. He was the boy's father.

The girl ran her fingers through her curly, dull hair in a slightly nervous way. "I was convicted of murder. I didn't do it, I swear." Her grayish-black eyes met the man's. There was a truthful integrity to them, and although the lawman wouldn't yet admit it, he believed her.

"How do we know you're telling the truth?" The boy asked her in a childish way, fiddling with the brim of his well-worn hat, not wanting to be left out of the interrogation.

"You don't. You'll just have to trust me. I probably wouldn't if I were you." Her brazen answer reassured the man. He believed her.

"You sure aren't helping your case." The man chuckled, a surprise to the boy. "My name is Rick Grimes. This is my son, Carl."

After much discussion and introduction, the three drifters walked along a road leading away from the barn. Rick carried a baby on his hip. Corrie didn't ask.

"Were you ever with a community?" This she asked without thinking.

Carl just looked at the ground, while Rick shifted the child from one side to the other.

"We got separated. We will find them." He said, without the slightest change of expression.

"Oh. I can help...I mean, you saved my ass out there, so it's the least I can do. Why did you, anyway?"

"It was the right thing to do. I can't make any promises, though. My group might not think the same. "

"Thanks. For everything. You're a good man, Rick."


End file.
